


Late Night Peep Show

by BlueNeutrino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Auction, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Kidnapping, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Consensual, Prompt Fill, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Supernatural Kink Meme, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/pseuds/BlueNeutrino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: Dean gets kidnapped and is taken to some "sex show or auction" (idk how to describe it) where he is tied up on stage in front of a large audience and the show host/presenter plays with him or lets audience members pay to have sex with him on stage. All the while, Sam is figuring out how to save Dean. BONUS if the audience are all demons. (http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/90403.html?thread=35837731#t35837731)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Peep Show

**Author's Note:**

> I began this ages ago as a fill for the kink meme, and I regret to say I never finished it. I fully intend to and I'm so sorry to the original prompter, but I ended up getting a ton of prompts for my cardiophilia series which ate up my attention. However, I'm hoping that if I de-anon and post it here, it will motivate me to write more.

Something jerks at the collar around Dean’s neck and he stumbles forward, unable to use his hands to steady himself as they’re bound behind his back. His breath feels hot on his face where it’s trapped by the hood over his head, the sound of it amplified in his ears as he snatches in air between the crushing pressure of the collar around his throat. His heart is pounding in fear. He knows he should be able to do something to fight back, but the way he’s bound up, he’s completely incapacitated and at the mercy of the demons that have captured him. All he can do is hope that the opportunity to escape presents itself.  
  
Muffled through the cloth hood, he can hear someone else talking, more voices like the chatter of a crowded room, but it isn’t yet possible to make out any words. Without warning, someone gives a harsh shove between his shoulder blades so that he stumbles forward again, and then he feels a sudden intense heat on his skin and a bright light penetrates through the hood. The sounds of cheering erupts around him, and he guesses that he’s standing on a stage or something underneath a spotlight. Why that is, he doesn’t know, but he guesses it isn’t good.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you tonight” a loud voice booms through the air, accompanied by the distinct echoing quality of microphone feedback. Its tone could almost be that of a late night talk show host if it weren’t so cruel and gleeful. “Some of you may recognize him; a hunter you’ll know by name if not by face. I present to you: Dean Winchester!”   
  
At that point, the hood is suddenly ripped from Dean’s head, and the surrounding crowd goes wild. He blinks confusedly for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the harsh glare of the spotlight resting on him, but as his vision focuses he can make out the first couple of rows of the audience. Some of them are seated in rows of chairs, a few of them around tables, and several are nursing beer bottles while they jeer and clap at the figure whose face has just been revealed on stage. The smell of smoke and sweat hangs thick in the air, and Dean realizes he must be in a club of some sort. A few pairs of black eyes stare back at him from the audience, ominous and threatening as they promise the situation is about to get much worse. Dean feels his stomach lurch.   
  
“Now, this is a hunter with a reputation,” the host continues, and Dean squints to make out the shape of a dark haired man in a white suit speaking into a microphone nearby. “Who here has been exorcised by the Winchesters? Or nearly knifed into oblivion? Or maybe you know someone who has?”  
  
More shouts from the audience, angry, almost rabid, and Dean feels his mouth go very dry. Again, he contemplates trying to fight, but the burly figure of a shaven-haired, tattooed demon comes into view and places a firm hand on his shoulder to warn him off it. Dean cocks an eyebrow, hoping he doesn’t look as scared as he feels. “What is this, Demon American Idol? Because if you’re gonna hand me a microphone and ask me to sing, that would be a really bad idea.” The comment earns him a harsh uppercut to the jaw, the force of which knocks him to his knees. Pain erupts through his legs as they hit the ground with a hard crack. Jaw throbbing, Dean grits his teeth and silently waits to see what happens next.  
  
“I’m sure many of you have had run-ins with those flannel-clad nightmares,” the host continues, and dread begins to pool in the put of Dean’s stomach. “And you’d love the chance for some payback. So now what I’m asking is, how would you like the chance to see what Dean Winchester looks like underneath the flannel?”

The crowd erupts in a fresh burst of cheering, and Dean swears he feels his heart momentarily stop. “Wait, what?”  
  
His shocked protest goes ignored as the host saunters over to a nearby table and picks up an empty shot glass, beginning to bang it like a gavel. “How much will someone give me for that jacket he’s wearing? And you know what, we’ll throw in the flannel and t-shirt for free. Do I have fifty dollars?”  
  
“Fifty!” someone calls out from a table near the back, too far away from Dean to see, but it’s quickly followed up with an offer of “Sixty!” from someone in the front row.   
  
Realizing where this is going, Dean feels a wave of nausea sweep over him. “You can all get fucked,” he snarls out, thinking he’ll die before they start stripping him, but as he tries to get to his feet with the intent of making some stance of defiance, the demon from earlier punches him again. The collar is still in place, with leash attached, and another harsh, choking tug on it cuts short Dean’s next movement. He almost thinks he could try fighting back if it weren’t for the other demon that appears behind him, inhabiting a meatsuit that’s built like a stack of bricks, and as more of the blows come, Dean’s helpless to stop it.  
  
The auction continues, although Dean’s deaf to all but the ringing in his ears and the background noise of jeers and shouts as he’s violently pummeled into submission. When the bindings around his wrists finally come loose, he’s too dazed to try to use his fists before he feels his clothing being roughly wrenched from his arms. First the jacket, then the overshirt, and finally his t-shirt is pulled up carelessly over his head, causing it to rip along the seams. Whoever purchased it doesn’t seem to care about the damage as the cheering only gets louder.  
  
Moments later, Dean is left kneeling on the stage, naked from the waist up and with his face beginning to swell into bruises. As one of the demons grabs hold of Dean’s shoulder to hoist him back to his feet, the only form of protest Dean can manage is to spit in his face. The action earns a few “Ooohs” from the crowd, but rather than the response of another blow he’d been bracing for, the other grunt reaches around Dean’s head from behind and Dean feels something being forced into his mouth. He tries to bite down on the demon’s fingers, struggling furiously, but the shockwave that runs painfully through his teeth tells him he’s trying to bite down on a metal ring gag. Something like a sob wracks his chest as he comes to the realization that he’s now on stage in a room full of demons with his mouth clamped open and gradually being stripped naked in front of them, and bile rises in his throat at the thought of what will come next. It’s only a few seconds before his worst fears are confirmed.  
  
“Now what about the pants?” the host offers, swaggering over to stand in front of Dean and leering at him while he’s restrained by the two demon grunts. “Would someone out there like to find out how big Dean Winchester’s cock is?”

Dean’s cheeks are burning, tears pricking at his eyes as he hears a woman call out, “I bet it’s tiny!” That wins a few rounds of laughter from the audience, and Dean just wants to die from shame. He almost thinks it would be better that he doesn’t survive this than for Sam to find him in this state.  
  
The show host seems amused. “Place a bid, madam, and I’m sure you’ll find out,” he tells the woman, opening up the auction for the rest of Dean’s clothing. “Do I have thirty dollars for the jeans?” The bidding this time round is even more rabid and enthusiastic than before, and they get to over 200 dollars before the host bangs his shot glass against a table and wanders back over to Dean with a look of delight on his face. “Now let’s see what you’re packing down there, Dean,” he hisses, and a shiver of revulsion runs through Dean’s body as the host comes to stand in front of him and begins to unfasten his belt.  
  
Dean has to turn away, looking over to one side and trying not to think about what’s happening as he feels nimble hands working at his zipper, but doing so brings his eyes to rest on yet another demon standing at the side of the stage recording it all with a video camera. Dean’s eyes widen in horror.  
  
Noticing his reaction, the host laughs. “Smile for the camera, Dean. We have our online viewers who want to see this too.”  
  
With his mouth gagged, Dean of course can’t smile, but it’s a miracle how he manages to not retch. _They’re streaming this online. Fuck, no. This can’t be happening._ Disgust and horror churn inside him and he tries struggling desperately against the demons’ grip to no avail. He wants to believe this isn’t real, but as he feels long fingers slide into his boxers and prepare to wrench them down, there’s no denying that it is.  
  
Dean clamps his teeth down tight around the gag and chokes back a sob as the host suddenly yanks both his jeans and his boxers down to his ankles in one swift moment. The reaction is the wildest the crowd has gone all night: clapping, jeering, a few taunts hurled in his direction. “You call that a cock, Winchester?” “Can your brother even feel it when you fuck him with that thing?”  
  
Despite his best efforts, Dean feels a tear of shame spill over his cheek. He knows there’s nothing wrong with his cock, nothing to be ashamed of, but that doesn’t make having it scrutinized by a room full of demons any less stomach-churning.  
  
What the host says next, however, makes things even worse. “Now, now, ladies and gents. Let’s not get unruly,” he begins, pacifying the crowd until the noise returns to acceptable levels. “I know those of you who were hoping for a monster cock are disappointed, but let’s remember that size isn’t as important as what you do with it. So, who wants to see what Dean’s dick can do?” A few shouts of affirmation, and Dean thinks he’s going to be sick.  
  
The host turns back to him, black eyes taunting and his mouth twisted in a leer. Dean stares back, although his eyes are too wide with fear to show defiance anymore. “I’ll bet your little cock gets bigger when you’re hard,” he says, reaching out to wrap a fist around Dean’s shaft. Dean tries to lash out with a kick to stop his fingers ever making contact, but one of the demons restraining him suddenly stamps down hard on the bridge of his foot. An involuntary howl of pain sounds in Dean’s throat, and a moment later, the host has his fingers wrapped firmly around Dean’s length. “Hey, Anton, come and zoom in on this,” he sneers, inviting the demon filming to come and get a close up of Dean’s cock as the host begins to steadily stroke.  
  
With tears running down his face from humiliation, Dean is horrified to feel himself starting to get hard.

The host isn’t gentle, rough fingers picking up pace and harshly jerking him until Dean’s cock is flushed and swollen, pre-come leaking from the tip. The cameraman captures it all, making sure to keep the lens directed downwards as Dean fills. The host grins and then pulls back a little to allow the audience a clearer view, prompting another nauseating cheer. A shiver of revulsion runs through Dean’s body as he sees the demon lick his lips. “Looking a bit more impressive now, aren’t we, Winchester?” he taunts, eyeing up Dean’s cock and then dropping his hand to cup Dean’s balls. The cameraman zooms in closer, recording it as the host gives them a brutal crushing squeeze. Dean can’t help the whimper that escapes his clamped-open mouth.  
  
The crowd seem to love the display of violence, and Dean can hear their laughter ringing in his ears while tears of both humiliation and pain spill from his eyes. The camera pans up his body to capture his tears, and Dean screws his eyes shut and tries to looks away. When the pressure finally lets up, he only has a brief moment of relief before he feels the tightness of a leather cock ring being fastened around his ball sac and the base of his dick. Daring to open his eyes, Dean sees the host leer at him. “Don’t want to let that go down again, Dean. Gotta keep you going all night.” There’s just enough time for Dean to feel his stomach lurch in disgust before the demon steps back, giving a flourish of his arm as if presenting some grand attraction. “Here he is, folks: Dean Winchester!”  
  
There’s more applause and sadistic jeers, but Dean can tell from the scattered sounds of complaints that the crowd are growing impatient. “Get on with it, Brax!” “We’re not paying for the preshow, get to the good part.”  
  
Dean’s knees go weak as he thinks he can guess what’s coming, and with nausea churning in the pit of his stomach, he starts to struggle harder. The only thing it achieves is another punch to the jaw before he’s being forced to his knees and his arms are twisted and bound painfully behind his back.  
  
The host, Brax, doesn’t seem inclined to rush. He gives a light chuckle at the audience’s reaction and then continues as before. “Very pretty to look at, I’m sure you’ll agree, but what’s the point in having a pretty toy if you’re not going to play with it?” At that point, he gives a nod to the demons restraining Dean, and then Dean feels himself being dragged forward and a rough hand pressed into the back of his neck. His heart hammers wildly as he understands what’s happening, his body being oriented to present his ass to the audience while a hard shove to the back of his head forces his face towards the floor. His right cheekbone stings harshly as he collides with it, but with his wrists bound and the solid pressure of a hand still tangled in his hair, he’s unable to move to try to get away. The only position he can kneel in is the one he’s been forced into, ass involuntarily thrust in the air and exposed for the audience to see. Dean thinks he could just about die from shame.   
  
“Well, then…” he hears the cold voice of the host resume somewhere behind him. “Would you look at that?” Dean’s trembling with dread as he hears footsteps drawing closer to him, reverberating through the stage to echo ominously in his skill. A fingertip settles itself lightly between his cheeks, and a shiver runs through him as he feels it trail steadily downwards towards his hole. Even with time to brace himself, Dean isn’t prepared for it a single dry digit presses cruelly inside. He groans, his hole already starting to burn as his body tenses from the unwanted touch, the finger curling painfully and probing deeper inside. The host gives a soft gasp as he feels Dean clenching around him.   
  
“What a tight little hole,” Brax murmurs softly, more just to himself and for Dean to hear the twisted pleasure in his voice rather than the crowd. He picks up the volume again with the next sentence. “Who’d like to try it out?”


End file.
